


Grace of the Loa - Bwonsamdi

by mneiai



Series: Grace of the Loa [1]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But he's trying, M/M, Post-World of Warcraft: Legion, Tyrathan Khort is Bad At Love, playing fast and loose with magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 00:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13493280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: “...You can bring him back?”“No, Vol’jin’s man, ya can.”





	Grace of the Loa - Bwonsamdi

**Author's Note:**

> So I read Vol'jin: Shadow of the Horde and now I'm going to just be writing Vol'jin/Tyrathan. I mean, not really, but I can't get these two out of my head.
> 
> This is planned out as a series of 6 interconnected short stories. I decided not to make them chapters because I'm more likely to finish it this way lol
> 
> Anyway, apologies for messing up any WoW canon, I'm a n00b. Also if anyone wants to squee over these two, totally will exchange Discords or whatever (or find me on Tumblr at manyangledone).

The dream wasn’t a familiar one and yet something about it made Tyrathan feel as though he’d had it a hundred times before. He crept through the darkness, searching out some sign of life, but even with his finely tuned senses he somehow missed the figure suddenly coming into focus in front of him.

It was...troll-like, in a way. More different than a Darkspear was to a Zandalari, but still with noticeable similarities. And even without seeing its expression, Tyrathan could feel its amusement rolling off of it in waves.

“I been wantin’ to meet Vol'jin’s man.”

Tyrathan tensed, the name a reminder of loss that stabbed straight into his center. Still if this...whatever it was knew what he had been to Vol'jin, he decided to take that as a good sign.

“I don’t think many would say the same.” As the words left his mouth, he realized they were speaking in Zandali. It had never felt so natural to him, before, but he wrote it off as the oddness of dreaming.

The thing chuckled and it felt as though the shadows were creeping over Tyrathan’s skin, making him suppress a shudder. “I figured it be when ya dead--ya not be claimed by any other, but that connection to that shadow hunter be giving ya to me.”

That, Tyrathan decided, at least answered one question: this was one of the spirits that Vol'jin’s people worshipped. And as he couldn’t imagine why he’d be dreaming of it...he was starting to wonder if this was a dream, at all.

“So I’m guessing I wasn’t murdered in my sleep?”

The spirit shook its head, shifting closer. “No, ya be too sly for that, Tyrathan Khort. I bring ya here to speak.” Its hand reached out, brushing Tyrathan’s cheek, and where it touched it was so cold it almost burned. “Ya be givin’ me lots of souls, ya be honoring me by honoring my shadow hunter. And ya be mourning for him. Your soul be crying out for him.”

In the real world, Tyrathan would have denied that. What he felt for Vol'jin had always been between the two of them and whatever Pandarans took notice, not something for others to know. But this was either a dream or a vision from a god, so he decided there was little point denying it.

“I never thought he’d die before me.”

The spirit nodded. “That I be understanding. That be a reason ya be here.” He held out his other hand and Tyrathan dared look away from his eyes, glancing into the open palm, where a large, black pearl-like object rested. “Ya be connected to him, still. The slightest little thread, but I be keeping it strong--it be enough.”

Tyrathan swore he could smell Vol’jin’s scent in the air around them, could almost hear his near-silent footsteps echoing in the empty spaces. He couldn’t move his eyes from the orb.

“I be welcoming his soul, but he be needed, still. We be deciding to give him more time.”

“...You can bring him back?”

“No, Vol’jin’s man, ya can.”

Tyrathan woke up, covered in a cold sweat and choking. He rolled onto his hands and knees, coughing from deep in his chest, before he felt the object lodged within break free and shoot out of his mouth.

A dark orb, almost like a pearl, with something swirling deep within. And even in the barren tent that only Tyrathan had ever entered, he swore he could smell Vol’jin once more.

***

Tyrathan could not say how long it took to get from the Broken Isles to the Echo Isles. His journey was haunted by restless sleep, dreams of Vol'jin and what he had imagined his final battle to be like, interspersed with odder ones, where even after waking he wondered if they weren’t visions.

He swept into the village he’d seen in his dreams at night, silent as only the most skilled hunters could be. In his mind, this played out much like a hunt--he knew his targets and even though he would try not to kill any, he realized that a human suddenly appearing to the trolls may mean he’d have to subdue some.

That...was not the case. Maybe luck, or Vol'jin’s gods, were really on his side, because when he carefully made his presence known to one of the witch doctors, he simply accepted it. It seemed that Vol'jin had spoken of him more than Tyrathan had spoken of Vol'jin, because his name was known. Or, at least, known among those who must have been trusted spiritual advisers. 

“We be expecting you YEARS earlier,” one stated, as others joined them. 

A fire between them staved off the night’s chill, but made Tyrathan feel too exposed. Here any troll wandering by could see a human among their people. Not that he worried about spies reporting his treasons back to the Alliance, not here, at least. 

“You were?”

“You be letting Vol'jin get by on barely a word. But humans being cruel, that be in your nature.”

“I honestly hadn’t thought he’d tell others of me. Or that he’d want to show his people that he had a human friend.”

A troll seemed to be making tea, a smaller troll, perhaps a young apprentice, brought cups to fill and began passing them around. Tyrathan thanked them for it, letting the scent waft to him as he attempted to place all of the herbs within. It reminded him of quiet moments with Vol'jin, contemplating a move or some new, philosophical dilemma. 

“One human friend. Don’t mean a Darkspear suddenly be making nice with all men.” The troll levelled a hard stare at him. “And now be looking at you, mourning the loss of him who you be leaving for years.”

Tyrathan knew if he didn’t stop this topic of conversation, he’d only end up feeling worse. He reached into his shirt, pulling out a pouch attached to a chord he was wearing around his neck. 

“I had a vision,” he stated, causing the trolls to stir with curiosity. “I was given something and then...I woke up with it.”

He opened the pouch, letting the orb fall into his hand. Reactions varied, exclamations of some sort, he thought maybe prayers, were common among them.

“Bwonsamdi be granting you this vision?”

“It didn’t exactly introduce itself. Just said it wanted to talk to me, as, uh, Vol’jin’s human, and that ‘they’d’ decided he was still needed alive.”

That set off a round of hurried discussion, Zandali falling so quickly that Tyrathan could only catch every few words. While he waited for the conversation to restart, he realized others were drawing close. 

Turning to face the new trolls, it was easy to tell the difference--shadow hunters, like Vol'jin. They were studying him in return and Tyrathan had no reason to think they’d be less observant than Vol'jin had been. 

He held the orb out towards them and one stepped forward, reaching out a hand, but not touching it. Instead he cupped the air around it and Tyrathan felt the tingle of troll magic dancing over his palm. 

“We be bringing Vol’jin back to us,” the shadow hunter stated, eyes narrowing towards the witch doctors like he expected a disagreement. “The loa be reaching out to this one just for that, we be honoring that.”

Tyrathan sucked in a breath, excitement building. For most of his journey, he realized, he’d assumed it would be a fool’s errand. That perhaps, even, he’d been sent to the Echo Isles to die. Now, faced with the very real possibility in resurrecting Vol’jin, he was filled with nervous energy, feeling younger than he had in years. There was still a chance it would go horribly, that whatever they rose wouldn’t be the troll they’d all known, but it was something better than mourning, and Tyrathan would take it.


End file.
